Hide Your Dagger Behind Your Smile
by nuncscioquitsitamor
Summary: She chose option three. She cheated unimaginable torture and death. He faces it, masked and scarred. She owes him; he wants to die. I apologize: taking a break from this story for a while
1. Do Not Try Do

**Disclaimer: This is, if you haven't noticed, going to evolve into a SS/HG ship. If you are not comfortable with that, you may kindly leave this page. If you are going to complain about the ship, why in heaven and hell would you click on a ship you don't like? Oh, and another thing: this takes place in a bit of an AU. You'll see how it develops. Thank you very much, and do enjoy.**

The hex had hit him hard in the face; of course it hit him in the face. His already crooked nose was swollen, almost filling in the gap between his forehead and bridge of nose, where his nose gave off its hooked appearance. It throbbed. Without much dignity, he realized, he was sprawled on the bathroom floor, dripping crimson blood into a toilet. He couldn't stop the bleeding without his wand; he would not go to the infirmary. His cheek, eye, and lip, he could feel, were swelling in addition to his nose. His hair, black as velvet, was plastered to his neck and forehead. He groaned. Stumbling forward, he groped for some toilet paper to stuff his nose with. His shirt was ruined; he'd repair his robes later.

"Sev!" The beautiful ginger haired girl he adored came running up behind him, "I-I got this back from James, I--"

"Lily," a young Severus whipped around, "I don't want to hear it--"

"You're hurt--"

"I'm always hurt, Lily--" he said in a congested manor; blood was clogging his sinuses.

"Sev…here's your wand. I--"

"Thanks," Severus mumbled, taking his wand out of her hand. Their fingers grazed.

"Do you need help?" Lily looked pained. He must look awful.

Severus sighed. "I'll be fine. See you later." Severus stalked off, leaving behind a concerned Lily.

SS

"This morning," Snape hissed at his class over a sea of steaming cauldrons, "you will be brewing the Draught of Living Death." Sleepy spring sunshine of morning had already seeped into the minds of the almost graduating class. Barely a regard for their professor: there were a few yawns, a handful of blank faces, and one all-too-eager face framed by bushy ringlets. The rapping, tapping, scratching of chalk on the black board pulled several students from their comatose state. Teaching was nearly futile; these students would soon be gone and had already sanded down the fear for their dark professor. Of course, it was not that they were unintimidated—on the contrary, he was still just as towering as to a first year. Alas, the handful of lazy adolescents had not a fear for class work, and took the late May sunshine as a queue for the scholarly end. Anyhow, students of the seniority caliber should be expected and compelled to take care of their own tasks. After completing the instructions on the board, Snape took fort at his desk, harshly grading second year essays.

His eyes scanned the heads hard at work. "Miss Granger," he bellowed, "would you kindly not assist Longbottom with—his—poitionmaking!"

An audible gulp was heard from the back of the class, where the bushy haired girl was assisting the utterly shy boy. The cauldron was emptied, ingredients put away, and two detentions handed out.

"But sir, if Neville could just get the extra help, he'd--"

"Miss Granger, back—to—your—seat!" Snape's robes billowed as he headed to the center of the class. "You should all be of age to recognize what are and what are not your intellectual talents," his eyes dashed towards Neville, "Being at that age of yours, you must all also recognize that cheating is punishable by--"

"Sir, you could hardly call that cheating!" Hermione spoke, though out of turn.

"Detention! 70 points from Gryffindor, each--"

"Sir--"

"Dismissed!" Everyone hurriedly collected their books. Snape went back to his desk; a death grip on his quill. All that could be heard in the classroom was the screeching of stools and the scratching of Snape's quill.

"Hermione, c'mon. Just leave it alone. There's only two weeks left of class anyway--"

"Ronald, I can't just leave it alone! Neville needed help! That's not cheating; neither of us deserve a detention!"

"It's Snape, Hermione--" Harry said, swinging his bag onto his shoulder.

"Look, I'll see you both at dinner." Hermione said, shooing them away. Leaving her books at her desk, she approached the glowering professor.

"Sir, I-I hardly think it is acceptable that you--" Snape's eyes flickered up at her; not a word was spoken. He went back to grading papers.

"Miss Granger," Snape hissed, clearing his throat, "you are aware of my policies. I am punishing how I see fit--"

"Sir. If you just give Neville a chance--"

"Longbottom has not the skill of potions!" Snape spoke agitatedly. _Insufferable man!_

"That's not true!"

"Miss Granger, I will see you after dinner." That was that. His tone was controlled, arrogant. Red faced, Hermione walked back to collect her things. Her frustration was boiling. She slammed the door behind her.

Before she had even ascended the stairs to get out of the dungeon area, screams were heard. A rumble deep in the castle shook her feet; she drew her wand. _Harry and Ron._ She backed up. Before she knew it, she was running back to Snape's classroom. She could hear rushing footsteps coming her way; she ripped open the classroom door. Snape was right at the other side, wand drawn, face barely showing panic. "Miss Granger!" He thundered. He poked his head out of the door jam; he heard the footsteps, too. He sighed and scowled. "Get—in—now--" Hermione rushed in; the door was shut and warded behind her. _Why did I go back_, she thought, _that wasn't very Gryffindor…Where are Harry and Ron? What am I doing here? What of my friends?! _

"By no doubt," he said through gritted teeth, "you can assume we are under attack--"

"Yes, but I thought we had more time—wasn't it safe enough--"

"Halt your silly questions!"

"Oh gods," Hermione sunk down on a stool, "Harry and Ron are up there--"

"You can't do anything about it now—"

"No! I have to go help them--" She flew at the door.

"Granger," Snape bellowed, "you will do no such thing. I will not be responsible for your death--"

"But I don't want to be responsible for theirs'!" She bit her lip and swallowed tears.

"Oh sit down, will you. You're not going anywhere."

"No. I can't just sit here—Oh, why did I go back--" Hermione heard a slam behind her; Snape had retreated to his chambers. _That bastard._

She could hear screams and feel the rumbling of the castle. She was going mad, for heavens sake! Twice she removed herself from her seat, paced to the door, rationalized that it would be futile to try and break the wards, and returned again to the cold stool. Snape appeared behind her after what felt like an entire evening. He carried the mask of a Death Eater in his hand. His robes were blacker than black; his hood was drawn. "I know, Miss Granger, you know my position." Hermione kept for mouth shut. "You have three choices in the matter that is about to happen." Hermione's brows knit; Snape kept talking in a deep, expressionless manner. "I cannot just let you leave now that you are here. You are, I assume, of at least enough intelligence to know you are valuable as bait--"

"Bait?"

Snape's glare hushed her. "First: you stay here. You stay silent and under the radar. It is too late to escape, but you must know that hiding here risks your life and mine. A stupid idea."

Hermione nodded.

"Second: I claim you as a…prisoner. It would, at least, be a better option than handing you to Lucius."

Hermione blinked.

"Third: I let you go, as if you 'escaped', so you can join in to your little heroic game. Your chances of not surviving are…"

"Slim…I know. I need to help Harry--" Hermione's voice was quiet but stubborn.

"It's his battle--"

"He's my friend!"

"You all—you little children with your Romantic notions of war and heroism! You'll die out there--"

"He's. My. Friend!" Hermione flew off the stool and towards the door, "I shall choose option three, thank you very much." She stood cross-armed at the door.

"Stupid…child…" Snape hissed. He grabbed her shoulder and steered her towards a door she had never been near. "You will go _this_ way. It will take you to the vicinity of the Slytherin commons."

"Your-your chambers--"

"Yes--" Snape hissed, barely making a sound, "I will be warding the door behind you. You will not be able to get back in." Cold eyes stared at her. "In. Now."

His rooms were dark. She could barely see a thing; he wouldn't illuminate anything. She knew she passed through the main sitting room, then down a hall. She could hear her footsteps, and could hear his, too. And suddenly, they were at another door.

"I am sealing this after you step out. I am, as you surely know, targeted. I ask that, though this is _surely_ a very _Gryffindor _moment of sentimentality that we will perhaps never see each other again," Hermione could see his face; cold, distant, shadowed. Perfectly Slytherin. If she had not, months ago, already figured out his double-agent position, she would have felt herself in danger of being murdered right then and there. "I ask that you ask no questions. Mention me to no one. To you, I am a Death Eater." His voice adopted a deep thundering she was unfamiliar with. _This is the war._ It hit her. Her heart ascended to her throat. How could she possibly leave this man to an almost inevitable death sentence?! Yes, he's terribly insufferable, but he's human. She opened her mouth and drew a shaky breath. "Sir--"

"I am no longer your teacher, Miss Granger, I am to be your enemy." Cold, calculated voice.

"I--" she stuck out her hand, "Nice to know you, Sir."

Snape glanced at her hand. "Kindly replace your hand, Miss Granger. You will go, now." He said through his teeth. Hermione had nothing else to do; she could not save a determined man. "Thank you for giving me the third option. You're—you're incredibly brave, sir." She said quietly. He'd just spared her from cruel, cruel torture, she thought. She turned around, she held the cold doorknob in her hand.

"There is no such thing as bravery. Only degrees of fear," Hermione heard quietly behind her. She may have heard a hint of guilt…When she stepped out the door, she turned around. His face had not changed expression: cold, detached.

"How scared are you?" she whispered. _What did I just ask?_ She thought, mortified by her boldness of question. _He's probably going to die, and I'm wasting his time with silly questions!_

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, he leaned toward her.

The door slammed in her face. 

"Snape," Hermione could barely hear through the thick stone the cold, nasal voice of Lucius Malfoy. "The Dark Lord wants you. Now."

Hermione could hear screams from every direction. The castle rumbled; Hermione drew her wand.


	2. Even If You Stand Alone

**Author's Note: Thanks to my first reviewers and watchers! You made my day. (And I apologize if the next chapters may come a little late—Unfortunately, I have to put work first, and FanFiction second…)**

Young Severus leaned over his terribly worn textbook. Slaving over his homework and studying; exams would be in three weeks time. A familiar laugh sounded behind his ears. Lily was just around the corner laughing. Severus tilted his head; James Potter was carrying Lily's books. They were walking toward him, stopping just short of his table. "I—thanks James."

"Why don't you study with me?" James inquired cheekily, winking. Severus, against his better judgment and will, let out a snort.

"Didn't ask you, did I, Snivellus?" James snapped. Severus combed a hand through his hair and continued scratching notes onto a rumpled piece of parchment.

"Um. Sev. You wouldn't mind terribly if I studied with James tonight, would you?"

Severus shrugged, agitation and a searing hate for Potter boiling within him.

"I'll catch you tomorrow night, Sev. I promise." Lily squeezed Severus' arm and walked away with James. Severus kept his eyes glued to the pages of the book; he saw nothing. He had been waiting to spend some time with her. It had been ages since they had spoken as friends; she spent all her time with James…

James slammed Severus' head onto his book. "Forgot Lily's books. Have fun studying all alone, Snivellus."

Severus could taste blood again.

SS

On the moist Forbidden Forest ground, Snape kneeled in front of the Dark Lord. His stomach was turning; his hand was clammy. _What had he just done with his wand? Control thoughts; concentrate… _ "Snape," wheezed the voice of Voldemort, "You will come with me."

A circle of masked men, women, adolescents, and barely-human figures surrounded him. A slight rustling of robes was the only thing giving away the anxiety the masked ones felt. Wands were getting stroked in their respective robe encasements; eyes darted around the woods. Snape bowed, "Of course my Lord."

HG

"Neville! _Neville_!" Hermione ran up behind the boy; he was covered in dust, a smear of blood on his cheek.

"Hermione!" Without hesitation he grabbed her wrist, they ran in unison towards the Room of Requirement.

"Where's—Harry?—And—Ron?"

"I'm leading you there—They're okay--"

A wave of almost unimaginable relief flooded Hermione. _Okay_._ They are okay_.

"We're under—attack—Hermione--"

"Yes, I know that Neville!"

A rumble deep inside the castle sounded again. A piece of rubble dropped from the ceiling, narrowly missing Hermione. Around them there was rubble; select Death Eaters and students lay on the ground. _Stunned? Dead?_

"Stupefy!" Hermione screamed, hitting a masked man hard in the chest.

"Thanks Hermione--" Neville did not sound scared, though the events folding out around them were obviously tragic. Neville rapped on the stone wall in front of them three times. A door appeared, and they soon fell into a room filled with red heads. "Hermione!" The Weasleys called in unison. Hermione leapt at Harry and Ron, tugging at their necks.

"You both are here—I'm so sorry--"

"Why are _you_ sorry, 'Mione? We were so worried about you--"

"I'm glad you both are safe," Hermione said, avoiding that she had been in Snape's room. "Harry—why are you crying?" Hermione inquired, a crease deeply growing between her eyebrows.

"I--" Harry began quietly; Hermione released him from her grip. "Hermione…Dumbledore is dead."

"What--" Hermione's voice skipped three octaves.

"Snape did it--" Ron chipped in.

"No—he couldn't have--" she shook her head. _They were to be enemies, but still…_

Harry stayed quiet, looking at Hermione. He nodded; he kept a tight grip on Ron's arm, warning him to keep his big fat mouth shut.

"There has to be a reason--" Hermione paced around them, "He-he's double-sided. He must have had to--"

"He's a _what_?" Harry sounded.

"He's working for both sides. I _know_ that, Harry. Really, how could you not have known? Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"No…" Harry sat down on cushion near him. Ginny turned up behind him and grabbed his hand. "Dad says they're ready to go--" Ginny said quietly; her eyes were red. Harry stood, wand in hand.

"Are you ready?" He asked his best of friends.

Hermione nodded. "Of course mate," Ron responded. They stood. Harry looked brave; he looked like a man. Hermione leaned over and kissed his forehead. "You can do this, Harry. You're as ready as you can be."

Stepping out into the hall, the school looked worse than it had when Hermione and Neville ran to the Room of Requirement. There were holes in the wall and ceiling, windows broken; screams sounded all around them.

"The Shrieking Shack," Harry hissed behind her ear, "is where he is. I'm going."

"Harry—you're not going alone--"

"Look after Rom--"

"I'll drag him along!"

"'Mione--" Harry held her and arms length. He nodded his head toward the passage they would take to get to the Shack. "Shall I meet you there?" Hermione, anxious as could be, couldn't help but smile in spite of the current events. He was sure acting like his belated godfather.

SS

Snape stood in a dark, dusty, creaking room. Masked, robed, he blended in to the room of shadows. It was him, Voldemort, and Nagini. He cast a sideways glance at the snake. It was coiled; it glistened despite the deep shadows of the room. Next to Nagini resided Voldemort. Sitting in a grand chair, he looked sinisterly regal and all together indestructible. This far along there was no more thinking of right or wrong. What was done had to be done; sacrifice was merely a cost of life. In no way, shape, or form did Snape want to process what he did. It happened; it was calculated. Emotion should not be taken into account. He had been prepared.

"Snape," calmly hissed the Dark Lord's sub-human voice, "come here." Snape turned on his heel and strode across the room without a sound.

"Take off your mask." Snape did so.

"Look at me." Snape did so. It was as if Voldemort himself glowed a cool turquoise light. It cascaded around him; it was not a pretty sight. The eyes of the Dark Lord were beady and red: arrogant, evil, ruthlessly unforgiving.

"The old fool, what do you feel for him?"

Unflinchingly Snape replied, "I am glad, Master, to be rid of the old fool." Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"What of the boy? The girl, the redhead?"

"Insufferable children, my Lord. Had I the chance, I would have killed--"

"You had the chance, countless times!" Voldemort said, his face keeping composure, but his voice ringing out with agitation.

"Surely, my Lord, you realize that the old fool stood in my way. One wrong move and my position would have been given up."

"Severus," Voldemort whispered, "you have always been a good servant. You have proven your loyalty after I doubted you. You have many skills; a master of all of them--"

"Thank you, my Lord--" Snape bowed.

"You are," the Dark Lord said more quietly than the creaking of the house, "hiding something."

Snape blinked. Before he could act, before he could think, a blinding lime green light filled the room.

"_No!_"

Nagini was airborne, aimed at him. He was too close to shield himself. He braced himself for the sting of the fangs, the painful death by the venom. Instead, he felt a pinch on his neck, and something crashed into his chest, forcing him to the ground. A heavy weight was upon him; he could not see. He could hear voices of two young men. Something was shaking around him, next to him; he couldn't tell. Ears ringing, head throbbing; he shielded his eyes. Next to him, half on top of him, Hermione Granger was going into convulsions. Nagini's head lay on the opposite side of him. Two large holes punctured Hermione's sweater at her shoulder; her blood was going everywhere.

Snape felt lightheaded. _Damned Gryffindors_. He had to get up, he had to stop her bleeding. He could not tell if she were conscious or not; her eyes were open, glazed over and going yellow. Sweating, shaking, she was dying. _Why did she sacrifice herself? _Commotion spiraled around the room. Every inch of it was doused in a green haze. Snape tried to rise, tried to pull Hermione away from the fight. Muttering a countercurse to slow bleeding, he tried to aid her wound. Though it would not help very much. He still felt lightheaded; he clutched his neck. So he had been bitten by that damned snake after all. Though it felt like just a flesh wound, he looked down at his hand to find it covered in blood. His or Hermione's, he did not know. He forced himself up, thinking about pain would do no good.

A curse hit his back, slamming him to the ground. Disturbing the dust around him, he lay next to Hermione, unconscious.


	3. Who Am I Without It

**Author's Note: Thanks for the support, guys! This chapter is a bit short…Hopefully I'll get the next out within the week! Enjoy.**

"You're disgusting," his best friend said, repulsion growing across her face.

"I had no where to turn. It seemed right—I want to fight for a _better_ wizarding--"

"Sev! Do you realize what you've done? I can't—I can't be your fri--"

"Yes, you can. You'd be safe anyway. I wouldn't let anything happen--"

Sirius Black strolled up behind the young Severus, strutting like Potter. "Well, Snivellus, my cousin tells me you're a--"

"A what exactly? A greasy nosed snake? A--" Severus drew his wand.

"Death Eater." Sirius spat, smirking and combing his locks out of his face.

Severus stiffened visibly.

"So it is true?" Sirius' mouth drew into a wide smile. He rubbed his hands together, "Oh, this is just great--"

There was a crack; Severus was floating upside down. Under him was James Potter, wand drawn, laughing.

"And exactly what is going on here?" Potter's bass voice sung.

"James. Put him down!" Lily was growing more and more cross.

"Lily, why are you still hanging out with this scum? I hear he's a--"

"Yes. I am!" Severus boomed through gritted teeth, "Because wizards should be taught discipline. You, Potter, are worse than Mudbloods!"

"Excuse me?" Lily said, going red in the face.

"Oh—Lily—I—"

With a whip of red hair, she was gone.

"Smooth move Snivy." James said. Walking away, he left Severus upside down in the air. Blood was rushing to his head; he was going to pass out soon.

He was then let, rather gently, to the ground. Remus Lupin stood behind him, a concerned look upon his face. Lupin tilted his head. Without a word, Severus got up, brushed himself off, and strode away. He had no more friends.

SS

Every day was the same routine. It had been weeks since the castle had been torn apart; weeks, only weeks, since such great destruction had occurred. The castle, of course, could be mended rather easily. The people who perished? No. It will never be quite the same. But the battle was over, the war was won. At a cost, of course, but it was done: Voldemort was gone.

Snape sat in a worn, dark maroon arm chair. He leaned his head back; the thick bandage on his neck itched. He impatiently flipped a page in his dusty book. Across from him was a bed: too small for two people, but large enough for one to spread out in. The door next to his chair stood open; across the hall were his private stores and lab. One more quarter of an hour and he would return to his lab to retrieve three different potions. One for fever, one for pain, and one of his own creation: to aid that of a horrible venom.

His eyes moved to the figure in the bed. There was no movement, except for the occasional twitch and the sound of shallow, ragged breathing. He put his book on the arm of his chair; he rose. _Might as well check on the brewing. _

When he returned, the breathing of the figure in the bed had calmed. He found himself staring into dark brown eyes streaked with amber. He blinked; he drew a breath. _Damn. Explanations. She'll want to know explanations…_

Snape opened his mouth and drew another quiet breath. "The hospital wing is filled entirely…Poppy is swamped…I offered my guest quarters. And it is easier access to potions for you--"

The girl raised a hand to her heavily bandaged shoulder. The bandage ran under the baggy sweater she was outfitted in and around her collarbone. She winced.

"What happened?"

"That's not important--"

She blinked. "What of Harry and Ron?"

He shook his head, "I don't know--"

She pushed herself up with her good arm. "I must get up, then. I must see if they're okay--"

"No. Miss Granger, you will not. You are not well at all. You have been unconscious for three weeks--"

"Then I should get up and move--"

"Do not--" His voice was quiet, but it filled the room with his command. He stood over her.

She swallowed.

"I must retrieve your potions. I will be back soon." He turned on his heel. Even without his billowing robes, he seemed towering in his black button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black trousers.

"Sir?" Snape stopped in the door frame. "Did you—did you really kill Dumbledore?"

Snape blinked; his eyes seemed to want to escape his face.

"I will be back with your potions, Miss Granger, and some tea. You will be in pain soon; get some sleep. You will need it." And with that, he left.

HG

Hermione woke, ringlets glued to her sweaty face. She was hot and cold simultaneously. Her entire body ached and stung; she felt incredibly nauseous. The tea sitting on her bedside table was cold. She looked over her covers. The chair was empty; Snape was gone.


	4. Before You Break

Mid-July: 1979. Two of Hogwarts most prized graduates, fresh out of their last year, made a path down the main grounds; a traditional wedding was to be had. Sirius and Lupin were smiling faces in crisp dress robes. They sat in the front row of the seats. Sunshine draped everyone in a golden veil. A vision in off-white, Lily (almost Potter) strode down the grassy walkway. James' hair was combed and wavy. Both of them looked like halves of each other; their smiles were surreal.

Outside the gates, Severus shivered in his thick black robe, and disapparated.

SS

Snape jolted awake; his neck was sore, his book had fallen to the floor. His stomach rumbled. Except for more ragged breathing, Hermione lay motionless. Walking away from Hermione's beside, he decided to find some tea. Out in the sitting room, Severus strode to the heavily curtained windows. Of course, they were charmed; they were in the dungeons after all. Nevertheless, they were charmed to show the weather outside, if Snape so chose to peer out them. Light grey clouds hung over the grounds; there was a light drizzle. Turning his back to the window in search for tea, Snape realized he had not emerged from his quarters in almost three weeks. He only had so much food and drink in his quarters; though there was enough for perhaps another two weeks, he might as well send for something.

However, Snape did not particularly like the idea of leaving the dungeons. Granger was one thing, but he didn't want to face—

A heavy-handed knock sounded at his door. He whipped around. "Severus," the stern voice of none other than Minerva McGonagall forced its way through the door. "Severus Snape, I know you're in there--" Snape quietly, angrily approached the door.

"Yes, Minerva?" He hissed.

She adjusted her spectacles and tucked a piece of hair into her bun, "The Prophet is here, they--" Snape made a move to close the door; Minerva caught it.

"Severus," she gave him a stern gaze, "whether you like it or not, you're a war hero--"

"Don't use that sort of sentimental rubbish on me--" Snape's gaze was just as harsh as hers.  
"Because of you, Severus," McGonagall cleared her throat, "countless lives have been saved--"

"And what of Granger? I was supposed to get bitten! I was supposed to die! Not live with, with all this--" He bellowed. Realizing his sudden outburst of uncontrolled emotion, he gripped the doorframe to steady himself.

McGonagall's face pulled into a small smile, "I really don't know why you weren't in Gryffindor, Severus…"

The younger wizard gazed outstandingly at the older witch; he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am not a temperamental, sentimental--"

"I_ meant:_ you exemplify an outstanding amount of bravery--" Severus grunted and tried to close the door again.

"Wait," McGonagall demanded, a firm grip on the door handle, "How is Miss Granger?"

Severus sighed. "She's on a strict regimen of potions--"  
"Is she okay?"

Severus blinked, "She's on a strict regimen of potions…"

"Severus, you know that's not what I meant. How is she, emotionally; does she have nightmares? Anything unusual? Does she know yet?"

"I—We haven't talked--"

"But she's been awake?"

"Only for a few minutes," Snape admitted.

"Is she getting better?" McGonagall inquired more sternly.

"She is on a strict regimen. It may be for months, perhaps years, until she is able to heal completely."

McGonagall tapped her foot. "Well. Well, that is to be expected, I guess. Thank you. And Poppy says to thank you for giving up your guest quarters--"

Snape nodded.

Embarrassed by having to suck up his pride, Severus cleared his throat, "Minerva," he called out the door as she walked away, "is there anything to eat…?"

HG

When she woke again, Snape was back in his seat. He glanced up, then back down at the page he was studying. Finishing a neat bite of pot roast, he said, "Your friends, Potter and Weasley--" Hermione tried to sit up.

Snape gave her a look of aggravation, "…Potter…is in the hospital wing. He is injured but alive."

"And Ron? What about Ron?" Hermione's heart swelled in her chest; of course she'd always felt something for the awkward redhead, but she'd never felt an anxiety like this.

Snape took a large intake of air.

"What?" Hermione breathed.

Snape gently placed his book on the arm of his chair and stood up, "Miss Granger, do you remember the night of the battle at all?" Severus stepped gingerly to her bedside; he still towered over her, though his worn look pulled his intimidation thin. A thin line appeared between his brows.  
"N—no. Should I? There was light—a lot of light. And then," she looked down at her bandaged arm. It ached, she winced.  
"I—Miss Granger. Do you know why you jumped in front of me?" Snape was, internally, desperately searching for something: something to tell him he was not worthless, not unwanted…But why did he even care?  
"I--" Hermione's brow furrowed, "Ron--" she breathed. "Ron was hit by a—a curse. I tried to get to him to shield him. I--" Her eyes were wide as quarters; she blinked, not knowing what to think of it.  
"And then, then you were there and--" she swallowed, "Your neck. What happened to you?"  
Severus blinked, "It's fine. Barely a flesh wound." They exchanged a look. A look one might describe as meaningful; a look of great despair about to happen. A look of too many words and not enough explanations. "I am sorry, Miss Granger, for the loss you have received, and that your wounds may be seen as fruitless becau--"  
"No. No. You don't mean—you—I--"  
Hermione desperately tried to bite back tears. Her voice was hoarse and her body ached. She wanted to roll over and suffocate in her sheets. Snape bowed out of the room before she could say any more. He did not know what to think, what to say. Did he want to console her, to aid her anymore? He had helped her out of gratitude and duty; she saved his life. But it was not him she wanted to save. Should he care for her anymore? She could easily be put up in the hospital wing; in a proper hospital, even. But there were still the potions. _Damn_. Severus strode to his room, shakily slammed the door, and sunk on to his bed.

HG

Ron: headless and walking towards her. Ron: twisted and contorted, trying to kiss her. Ron: helpless with his wand, facing imminent mortality. The wand spun out of his hand. There was no masking the terror on his face. The redhead crumpled to the ground, bloody, stiff. He was kicked to the side. Ron: his body torn in two. Black eyes; black eyes swimming in terror and confusion. She saw the last of the light in those black eyes.

Hermione coughed; she rolled onto her side. She yowled in pain; her arm seared like it was on fire. The sheets she lay on felt different, thicker, darker. Or perhaps it was the lack of light in the room. There were more pillows surrounding her head. She was hot, sweating. The pillows smelled like a mixture of potion ingredients and oils. There was a cool grip on her uninjured shoulder; she writhed, trying to disappear in her sheets. "Drink this," a deep nasal voice said behind her, "it will help calm you down." The voice was cold and constrained. Hermione peeked over her shoulder. Snape extended a sniff arm towards her; he held a slowly steaming glass of indigo liquid. She received the glass and gingerly drank the liquid. Looking at Snape more closely, he appeared more pale, more sunken. Though his dressing was still the impeccable, crisp black outfit, he did not fill it out as well.

"These aren't your guest quarters," Hermione stated, looking around at the substantially larger and finely furnished bedroom.  
"Good observation, Miss Granger," Snape said testily. "If you must know," he said through gritted teeth, "these are my rooms. In your sleep you became violently sick, and--"  
"What day is it?" Hermione asked, after she had finished the glass. Her arm felt tingly, but it did not hurt.  
"It's the morning of July 15th--"  
"It's been a—a month since I was last awake?" Hermione's head swam.  
"Not entirely, Miss Granger," Snape stood still where he was.  
"Well?" Hermione grew suddenly impatient; sleeping in bed all day would do no good.  
"Well _what?_" Snape snatched the glass out of her hand.  
"I—sorry, sir. Just…Is there any news? How's Harry? How are the others…?" Her voice receded.  
"Many have recovered and gone home," Hermione searched his face for anything; Snape kept a cool distance. Though he was not warm the last time they spoke, there was something there. A hint of compassion, perhaps. She didn't know; he was colder now.  
"Mr. Potter has retreated to the Weasleys to recover--" Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. There was a loud crack. Snape turned his head; under his high stiff collar there was a dark scar. "Right there, thank you," Snape stiffly directed the house elf.  
Turning back to her, he summoned a robe, "You have been under the Corpus Dormio charm, Miss Granger. It may do you well to walk."  
"You kept me under that for a—a month?! How dare you. I could've lost brain activity and--" Hermione slipped on her robe and swung her legs to the side of the bed. Rising up too fast, her vision swam. Her knees buckled; a strong hand caught her at the back and waist.  
"You are still too weak--"  
"I'm not weak, I just got up too fast--" She almost shouted; leaning on the bed, she shooed away his assistance.  
"It would be appropriate for you to get up to _gain your strength_--"  
"I'm perfectly fine, thank—you—very--much!" Hermione scowled at the man. She coughed and wheezed.  
"Well, Miss Granger," Snape said so coldly it could have frozen the sweat on her face, "if you must know, you were on close watch the entire time you were under the charm. And since you are much too well, I will withdraw my assistance now. I do have my own life and would greatly appreciate to have it back. If you would like something to eat, you may find your way to the sitting room. Then, you may do as you please and contact the Weasleys, I am sure they would adore to have your insufferable company back. And, as the know-it-all you are, I am sure you can seek the ingredients and instructions to brew your own potions!"  
Hermione opened her mouth, but Snape had already swooped around the door and slammed another. Not knowing what to do, knowing it would be right to apologize to the man who had given up his time to care for little more than a stranger to him, she pounded a fist onto her pillow; Snape's pillow. "In—suff--er—able—you—are--" She snorted. She looked around; a painting of a Muggle picture hung on the wall: Merlin. It must have been charmed, because it winked at her. Hermione snorted again; she did not take Snape as the type to appreciate Muggle fables. To her left, a stack of letters sat neatly on the bed stand. In scratchy, swooping handwriting, her name was scrawled. As she reached over to the letters, her stomach grumbled. She sighed. Perhaps she should suck up her pride and get some food; dare she? And anyway, she could request to go back to the Weasleys before the day is over. She would never have to see Snape again.  
Setting her feet back on the ground, she slowly made her way towards the door. Opening the door, she discovered a stone hallway, the same one she walked upon the day of the battle. The stone was cold beneath her feet; it felt good. She heard a strange, high pitched ringing in her ears; she decided to lean against the wall. Her vision became fuzzy again; before she knew it, she vomited. She groped for the wall, now she was really going to have to suck up her pride.  
"S-s-sir--" she called, barely audible to herself. Before she could say anymore, she crumpled to the floor and began seizing.


	5. Give Me One Reason

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been a while--Finally I have some time again! (Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up before too long…) Thanks be to all who've clicked on this story and enjoyed it enough to come back and read again! I really appreciate the support. Hope you're still enjoying it.**

Red hair and a white dress lay in the grass. Pale skin caressed the green. A warm breeze went through Severus' heavy black hair. His chest felt heavy; he watched from a distance. The strapping James Potter lay next to Lily; they laughed, they smiled. Severus leaned against his shady tree trunk. Seventeen and springtime; they were all ready to leave school.

SS

Snape calmly sipped his strong black tea. The frizzy-haired individual in the bed next to him stirred and calmed. Letting out an aggravated sigh, Snape paced to the window. He absolutely detested the sterility of hospital rooms: off white walls, cold sheets, uncomfortable furniture, simultaneously dim and harsh lighting…A small cough sounded from behind him.  
"Sir?" Hermione tried to sit up; she could not.  
"Miss Granger, do stay still. Your body has suffered enough. No more messes to clean up, if you please. Do you recall what happened?"  
"I—I fell--"  
"You fainted, you had a serious seizure, Miss Granger." Snape was calm and cool, as if their heated argument had, in fact, not occurred. _What was he up to?_  
"I'm in St. Mugno's, aren't I?" Hermione's voice was weak, as if her throat had folded in on itself.  
"You've been here for a week, to be exact." Snape surveyed her. She felt uncomfortable under such an appraising glance. She must look awful…"Are you hungry, Miss Granger?"

Famished actually, she realized. "Yes, thank you."  
"There seem to be sufficient neural wounds that developed parallel to your shoulder injury," Snape seemed to blurt out, deciding it was better to be blunt than gentle.  
Hermione nodded, her neck was sore. "What—what does that mean, sir?"  
Severus scowled. "It's difficult to say. Your potions have halted the development of any more damage. However, I do not know if the current damage is repairable."

"Sir…" Hermione blinked, catching her breath, "why are you being civil towards me?"  
"Excuse me?" That was not the right way to test the waters, Hermione knew now.

"I--I just mean, we had fought before I—I--"

"If you must know, Miss Granger, you are frustrating. There should be a potion compound to cancel out the effects of venom. I daresay I cannot figure it out--" A cloud had appeared over Severus' face. A young and worn-thin looking nurse drifted in the room.  
"Ah, Miss Granger, you're awake."  
Hermione blinked; she didn't want to deal with extraneous outsiders right now.  
Snape snapped towards the woman, she visibly flinched. "Miss Granger would like some food. Preferably soup--" The nurse nodded and left quickly, either out of respect or fear.  
"I don't like soup," Hermione mumbled when the nurse's heels had tapped down the hall.  
"Now you do," Snape said, raising his eyebrows. "Now, Miss Granger, I have a proposal for you--"  
"Seriously, sir, why are you acting--?" Hermione was getting annoyed by his conduct.  
"Miss Granger, I am identifying that you are an invalid--"  
"I am not!" Hermione said loudly, sending herself into a coughing fit.  
"You dare to disagree?" Snape raised an eyebrow, starting to tower over her, "Miss Granger, I am not pretending to pity you. You have a relatively grave condition that, if you let me, can be researched and perhaps solved,"  
"Why? Why the insufferable know-it-all?"  
Snape paced towards the window again, "I will completely understand, Miss Granger, if you feel you would like to transfer to the Weasleys and live life to the best of your ability--"  
"What do you mean, 'best of my ability'?"  
"Miss Granger, do not pretend to not understand your condition! It's a scientific miracle you survived the bite--"  
"Because of you--" Hermione said shakily.  
"Because of--" Snape's breath, barely noticeably, caught. "Because you were not meant to get--"  
The nurse slipped into the room again, rolling a rickety tray with a steaming bowl of something.  
"Oh," Hermione directed her attention towards the nurse, "may I have release papers?"  
The nurse glanced at Snape, "You have to ask your guardian, miss--"  
"I'm—My parents are--" _How was she to explain her parents' living in Australia, not even knowing her name?! _"Really, I'll be eighteen in barely two months, I can make my own decis--"  
"Miss, do you not know your guardian is right there?" The nurse nodded towards Snape.  
"No, no that's a mistake--"  
"It is not, Miss Granger." Snape said, constrained.

"I'll leave the soup here," the nurse awkwardly glanced at the two people and scurried from the room.  
"What exactly has happened?" Hermione was going red with annoyance; to be in a bed was one thing, to not have control of her own life was…

"Miss Granger," Snape said, clasping his mug with both hands, "while you were unconscious, they needed to have someone to sign forms and agree to treatments--"

"What have you done to me?!" Hermione's voice climbed several octaves.

"Well," Snape took the seat next to her bed, "I was trying to explain that two you--" Hermione opened her mouth. "If you will please, Miss Granger, shut your mouth and listen." Hermione crossed her arms. Snape closed his eyes for a few seconds, collecting thoughts.

"I am proposing a different treatment option for you than what St. Mugno's wanted to provide. The potions supplied from my previous experiments, which have since been perfected, have helped you so far. However, the neurological complexities were not taken into account when you were bitten…There could be a way to cleanse your system of the venom still coursing through your veins. There is absolutely no guarantee that more experimental potions will work. Nor would it be an easy alternative. There would be pain and sleepless nights. The venom is a silent killer, no matter what. To live, you will have to face death first. And you will have to listen and take my directions…Your arm is doing better," he motioned to her no longer bandaged shoulder, "you'll have scabbing for a while and a scar. That will not go away. But it would be rather…unfortunate to see you waste more of your future for more sentimental purposes." Hermione's brow furrowed. Looking at her with an almost hint of thoughtfulness in the very back of his eyes, Snape said, "Eat your soup, Miss Granger. It will get cold. I will leave you to your thoughts." Snape then abruptly hoisted himself out of his seat and walked out of the room. Hermione blinked. What could she say, what should she say? Glancing sideways at her soup, she pulled a hand through her tangled hair. She surveyed the legs lying in her bed; she'd lost weight. Testing her shoulder, she found that it was not very painful to move around; _scars_…she thought. What had she done to herself?

A piece of parchment and a quill appeared at her eye level. Snape looked down his nose; "release papers. Do as you wish."

"Y-yes, sir. I'll take the offer."

A moment of astonishment and relief crossed Snape's face.

"Very well. Eat your soup, you'll need all the strength you can get."

"I'll eat the soup if I can have some proper clothes, please."

HG

In a comfortably oversized grey sweater and jeans, Hermione followed Snape out into the main hall of the hospital. "Miss Granger, I realize you will be quite tired after traveling by floo, due to the time you have spent in bed. I, however, have some supplies to retrieve. I can drop you off and let you settle into the guest quarters again--"

"I won't be in the hospital wing, or…?"

"Miss Granger, even you should know that intense potions means a practice of not only discipline but care and attention. For at least the next several months we must be in close contact; we will not be able to rely on a stable effectiveness of a potion, and must always assume there will be gross side effects."

"Right," Hermione nodded. "Wait," Snape gave her a perplexed stare, "will there be a bond?"

"'Bond,' Miss Granger?"

"Like between gravely ill patients and doctors, so doctors can be alerted when a patient has crashed, or--"

"If you have no objections, then yes. At least for the next few months."

"Right," Hermione nodded again. A pang hit her heart, where for a few seconds she missed Ron. But she was far too curious about Snape's altered attitude to let it bother her for long.

Stepping in front of an empty fireplace, Snape inquired, "Shall I return you to the guest quarters?"

"What do you have to buy, sir?"

"Books."

"Please, may I come along?" excitement twinkled in Hermione's eyes, and some healthy color rose in her cheeks. Steady rows of leather spines could cure a thousand illnesses, for her.

"As you wish, Miss Granger," Snape said, taking a deep breath. "Flourish and Blotts," Snape's voice boomed as green flames rose in the stone enclosure.

SS

"Miss Granger," Snape's voice was insistent, "you must go to bed and rest. I will prepare potions and directions--"

"May I please help, sir? I mean, it would be a brilliant learning experience. And the book is so old--"

"Miss Granger, it is only from the 1800s, where there appeared the most amount of snake attacks--"

"And you are thinking there is a potion in there to aid nerves?"

"Perhaps, Miss Granger. There are no guarantees."

"May I at least look at the book?"  
"You must rest. Dinner will be at 6:30. I will cast the bonding charm then. You need food and rest to gain some strength. We start the process in the morning." Snape turned on his heel and headed toward a dark door in the corner of the main room. "If you need anything, I will be in my study. However, I prefer you to not bother me. If you have any problems, contact a house elf."  
"But I don't believe in house--" but Snape had already gone into his study.

Wandering through Snape's sitting room, Hermione was astonished that he would need any more books. Shelf upon shelf wrapped around the walls, stacked and stuffed with books old and new. "Miss Granger, to bed!" Snape said with cold annoyance.

"Sir, really, I cannot rest. At least may I retrieve my books from my dormitory?"

Snape sighed; pinching the bridge of his nose he said, "I will get someone to send them down tomorrow. You may not go get them, you must conserve any strength you have. If you really _must _have something to read, you may select from my personal collection. I trust you will not damage anything," he said in a stern tone.

"Oh, thank you, sir."

"To bed, please, Miss Granger. It's for your own good."


	6. Truth and Questions

**Note: Thanks again to every reader! I'm not sure how much I like this chapter yet. I may revise it a little, then again, maybe not. Getting busy—trying to keep up on posting at least weekly! Cheers. **

It was already a bad idea to take a dreamless sleep potion. Nonetheless a borderline overdose. Snape gradually shook himself from slumber as the searing sensation from his heart to his head pounced on any more rest he could attempt to get. No longer could he wait for Lily in his dreams. Dreaming was his one masochistic, selfish action. But getting rest was a health concern. When Snape realized the screaming was not coming from inside his blank head, he leapt for the door in the dark, lighting candles along the way.

SS

"N-n-no! NO!" Hermione shrieked, clawing at the arms holding her down. She writhed and struggled against her shaking self. Swollen shut, her eyes dared not open. "No…" she breathed. A mixture of sweat and tears trickled down her face.  
"Miss Granger," a deep voice called from what seemed like miles away. The voice had an odd, calming effect. She pulled her eyes open. Slowly coming into focus was Snape standing over her bed, pressing her shoulders into her pillows. She took a few deep breaths.  
Snape let go and tried talking to her again, "Miss Granger. You are suffering from a side effect of the potions. If I may take a guess: nightmares?" he quirked an eyebrow. Hermione breathed slowly and rubbed her temples. "Dream—Just a bad dream--? Real…It felt--" Air refused to fill her lungs.  
"It is not surprising to have…vivid dreams when under the influence of strong potions. May I ask, of what nature were your dreams?" It had been a week since the start of the new potions; a week of almost nightmares, but none this bad. It must have been the middle of the night: Snape was wearing black, elegant pajamas that were desperately trying to escape the robe he had tied around him. She coaxed her eyes away from his satin-y collar.  
"I--" She sat up, "Harry. The Weasleys--" Snape eased a pillow behind her back. "I—thank you…sir." She would rather lean on him, to feel the security of someone's arms around her. She was scared of a nightmare, for heaven's sake! _How child-like…_What in Merlin's name was coming over her?!  
"Your dream?" Snape drawled. He looked pale and worn thin, not like his normal porcelain. Hermione wanted to ask him how he was, what was wrong. She ached to apologize, she felt like such a horrid burden: a tumor on the dungeon walls. However, they both accepted it as it was. Both had agreed to this treatment: Snape for an uncharacteristic experimental potions journal, and Hermione for…for what? She wanted to heal. She admitted to herself that she was indeed selfish enough to _want_ to heal. No, she did not regret trying to sacrifice herself for Snape. But she was worried that she could not live with her new, altered future. And still, she did not want to know why she had sacrificed herself in the first place.  
"Miss Granger?" Snape breathed, he sounded annoyed. He was tired, that much Hermione knew.  
"Sir, I'm fine. I'm sure I've kept you up enough--"  
"Contrary to your self-sacrificing and sentimental beliefs, Miss Granger, I am asking you this with the intention to fix it in the next batch of potions. Unless you are masochistic enough to like to suffer through night--"  
"I beg your pardon, sir?"  
"The sooner we solve this problem, Miss Granger, the sooner we are rid of each other. So, if you please," he snapped. His words cut through every nerve.  
"Harry and the Weasleys died," she mumbled, "they were attacked. The house was burning…"  
Snape studied her face hurriedly. The tears and sweat had dried on her face. She hated the tight feeling on her skin.  
"What did you say?" he hissed.  
"All my friends, everyone like family to me died, alright?"  
"Granger--"  
"I know it is in no way a rational dream because He Who Must Not Be Named and his loyal followers are gone, nor is it a flashback, because it never happened--"  
Quickly, Snape rose out of his chair. He felt his breast pocket.  
"What is it, sir?"  
"That was no dream--"  
"Wha--"  
He thrust the paper at her.

_Severus,  
I regret to inform you that at 1:23 a.m. Mr. Potter and the Weasley household were brutally attacked by an unknown source. It may not affect you, but Miss Granger will want to know._

_  
Sincerely,  
Minerva M._

"No…" Hermione breathed, letting the letter fall on her lap, "_no_…"  
"Miss Granger--"  
Hermione snatched the short parchment from her lap and began to crumple it, mutilate it.  
"Miss Granger," Snape grabbed her wrists with gentle force, "there is no reason to bring harm--"  
"My friends--" her voice crawled up her throat and stopped on her tongue. "_No…_" She gasped for air.  
Snape knelt down and got to her eye level, "There is nothing you could have done--"  
"They were my friends! Do not tell me—don't—don't—W--w--hether or not you and your cold heart know the feeling of friendship, do not tell me how to understand my friends' deaths!"  
Snape let go of her wrists with an almost disgust. "It may interest you to know that you are not the only one who has lost something," Snape snarled. "I will leave you to your grieving."  
Hermione rolled over on her side and listened to Snape's distant footsteps. She wept for her friends. She wept because she wanted Snape to hold her and tell her is would be okay. Weeping would do no good, but her heart burst open, flooding her veins with ice.

HG

Snape slammed the door of his room. Gods, what was he going to do? He did not know how to deal with emotion, he detested it. Yet in front of him had been a girl twisted and torn, and no potion could cure that. He knew all too well the custom-made torture that heartbreak was. He caught a glimpse of red hair before his eyes; his side seared. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he adjusted his robe. All of the sudden, all he wanted to do was aid the curly brown hair wrestling with itself in the room down the hall. He shook his head. _Stop. _Anything to stop Granger's incessant crying.

SS

When she woke again, Hermione's face was swollen and her nostrils felt as though they had been glued together. A strong golden light crept through her curtains; it must be at least midday. Pulling on a dark grey robe, Hermione slowly opened her door and found the sitting room. A small fire was lit; a few open books lay stranded on an end table. Half finished tea sat on top of one of the books. She felt the mug: it was still warm. She sat down in a dark green armchair and pulled her legs up to her chest.  
A door closed, she jumped. "Oh, you're awake." Snape said curtly.  
"Sir—Sir, I'm sorry--" her voice seemed out come from her nose, not her throat.  
"Severus," he said, almost annoyed. She could not tell.  
"Sorry?"  
"Severus, Miss Granger. I am not your professor. You do not have to call me Sir, if you do not wish. And I assume, by way of your comment last night, that you were trying to hurt me. I believe you have found out more about my past then you would ever let on."  
Hermione blinked, she felt caught. She knew about Lily Potter for the longest time. But know some sort of bile was rising up in her throat and she needed to crush it. She gulped.  
"I—I—Hermione…"  
"Hm?" Severus raised an eyebrow. He stood completely still in the corner of the room from which he entered.  
"If you are not my professor, then I am not your student, S—Severus," Indeed she felt she had outgrown saying "sir," yet his name felt weird in her mouth, like a bite too big to chew, or a new and sour taste in her mouth.  
"Hermione," he nodded, "You--"  
"I—I know. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just hurting so bad, I--"  
"Miss—Hermione, losing someone close to you is always an unfortunate thing. But rarely is it the complete end of the world." Snape sounded forcibly calm, almost at an attempt to be comforting; he was standing incredibly still.  
Hermione silently nodded. She bit her lip, a tear fell down her cheek. Then another, and another, until a storm had overtaken her eyes. She shut the world out, she curled up tighter in the chair.  
"I—I'm never this e—e—emotional--" She pulled her hands through her hair. "Per—haps it's—another—side—effect," she had trouble breathing through her sobs. A pair of hands found hers burying her face and woven in her hair. Severus pulled her hands away from her face. He gripped them tightly, warmly.  
"Perhaps," he said coolly. They looked at each other. Hermione stopped crying, Severus stopped thinking. After three heartbeats he looked down at their hands. She was trembling. He had entwined their fingers. _Stop. Control. Stop._ He let go and backed up. Hermione looked terrified.  
"Y-you should get back to bed, there will be a revision of the potion soon."  
"I'd like to stay out here. M-my room is just so…Confining. I haven't seen the outside in ages--"  
"There are still no proper windows here--"  
"I know."  
Severus straightened up. "I will be back in 15 minutes. Do as you wish." His shields were going back up; he clasped his hands behind his back. "The potion is most likely to make you drowsy."  
"I'll live," Hermione was already scanning the shelf of books next to the chair she was sitting in. Snape nodded tightly and left.  
Hermione's soul sighed a congested, tired, sad, hurt, confused, terrified sigh.

SS

He had to carry her to the couch. Well, in fact, the couch across the room was closer than her bed. She was too light, Severus thought. When was her last, real meal? He looked across the room at Hermione. Her mouth gaped open, she snorted a little, ringlets curtained her face. She twitched a little, too. Snape rarely had spare blankets, but had conjured a fuzzy, borderline itchy, grey one. He was trying too hard to control his emotions, his thoughts. It was, perhaps, the first time he ever wished he could possess a skill like painting.  
Rising quietly from his chair, Snape headed towards the door. She was most likely going to sleep for another three to five hours. He needed air, he needed to clear his head, he needed to gain control.


	7. Unfortunate Author's Note

--To all my trusty readers, thank you. I regret to say I am postponing this story for a little while. I've been reflecting on a lot of things, and I've decided to give myself a little break. I promise to continue this story, just not this instant. I am continuing writing (another story for my favorite ship: SS/HG…). Just something a little lighter on the heart. So if you're interested, there's always that…Again, thank you so very much. Please bare with me.--


	8. It's Something Like

**Dear Readers: Thank you for sticking with this. I apologize for taking a step back from this story for a while. But I'm back (for the most part) and will do the best I can to keep this story going. My writing and such will probably have shifted a little, so again I apologize for any and all inconsistencies. (But it's still a very strong SS/HG fic!) Tell me what I'm doing wrong. (I'm trying to switch it up a tiny bit…It's sort of a bad sign when an author gets tired of their own story, isn't it?) Thanks, again.**

She had been ill for a week. The head of Gryffindor had forced her to Madame Pompfrey's, after she vomited in the middle of potions class. Severus had adored having her as his lab partner; it was solely Sev-Lily time. Time that Severus desperately grasped onto, nowadays. Clacking against the cold stone floor, Severus' footsteps echoed throughout the deserted floor. Being that it was dinner, Severus had snuck a piece of Lily's favorite pie out of the Great Hall. His heart slammed against his chest; he hoped she'd be awake this time…

SS

In the large, dark brown armchair, Hermione sat, curled up. The Daily Prophet in her lap had been marked with red pen, over and over. Snape had been gone for a week, at least. Her heart ascended to a heavy beating in her ears; she crumpled the ratty paper in her hands. Pushing herself off the chair, she angrily paced the length of the sitting room. Outside the charmed window, golden, red, neon yellow leaves rustled on the ground. September was turning into October fast.

Since she had been easing off the experimental potions, Hermione's arm had healed. She felt, more or less, sane. Her friends were gone. Her parents were off in some blasted land; they would never remember her. Due to these predicaments, Snape had stiffly offered the guest room in his quarters to be hers for an indeterminate amount of time. Most likely, of course, with the stubborn prodding of McGonagall, Hermione thought. And though they had been in close proximity for a few months, now, they remained as cold as ever. Hermione spent time reading and helping restore the castle's ruins. Snape kept disappearing; it frustrated her beyond reasoning.

Still, it was odd to have been offered a place in Snape's quarters, his private life. Sure, it was understandable when there were potions and injuries and the war. But now? Injuries were healing, _healing_. Hermione kicked the leg of the dusty, elegant couch.  
"Defacing my property, Granger?" The drawl sent her whirling around. She caught her foot on the corner of the couch and fell forward.  
"Oh, for Merlin's sake…" Snape strode across the room, unbuttoning his cloak on the way. Hermione leapt up.

"I'm fine--" she waved his hand away.

"As you wish," Snape said, indifferently.

Hermione straightened her sweater; courageous curiosity surged through her. "So, sir, where were you?"

"Excuse me?" Snape inquired, neatly hanging his cloak in a side closet. He wore black, semi-formal traveling robes.  
"Well, s-sir, you leave late at night and don't return for days on end. Don't you find it a bit odd to have a guest and not be present? And I'm stuck here doing nothing while you're--"

"I'm not here to entertain you, Ms. Ganger. And no one said you had to stay here," Snape said, speaking to the closet, as he hung his cloak.

"Then why even offer a room to me, sir? I feel like a damned house keeper!"

"Severus. Don't use that bloody 'sir' title with me. I am not your professor. If it makes you so uncomfortable, just use 'Mr.,' something; anything but 'sir.' I despise that."

"Fine, _Mr. Snape,_" at that, Snape's shoulders seemed to slump and inkling, "I just—worried--"

"No one's asking you to worry!" Snape boomed, still speaking to the closet. Hermione stepped back and traced the pattern on the couch's fabric.

"I just—Sorry. Sorry. Look. It's weird being here, in the Snape quarters, without…Snape. I feel uncomfortable burdening you anymore, now that I am well. I'm sorry I can't give you back your summer months. But, look, I've been looking for a place to rent in the Prophet. I found something near Diagon Alley. I'm going to put an offer in--"

"And how exactly are you going to pay for that, Ms. Ganger?"

"I'll get a job; it won't be too much. I have a fair account at--"

"Living on your own. You really think you can? You're, what, eighteen?"

"Almost nineteen, sir—Mr. Snape--"

"What about security? Radicals are still around—It's not a safe place for someone like you--"

"Like _what_?" Hermione stepped closer to the man who was still speaking to the closet.  
"For Merlin's sake, Ms. Ganger, you're a young woman. Bright. But young. Living on your own would be risky--"

"I can very damned well take care of myself. I don't need some bitter old wizard telling me how the world works--"

"You don't know _how_ it works—The world is not made of Gryffindors. There are cruel people out there who will strip you of everything--" Snape said, turning around in a frustrated air. But the door had already slammed.

"It was nice to come home to another face…" Snape said, softer than the sound of leaves. Walking over to the chair she had been sitting in, Severus sat down. It was still warm. He looked at the paper on the floor. A large red circle encompassed a renting address.

HG

"This young, inexperienced woman will be out of your hair tomorrow, _Sev—er--us_." Hermione said as she opened the door to the main room. He wasn't there. She snorted. Taking off her jacket and throwing it on the couch, Hermione walked towards his sleeping quarters. A dim light flickered on the other side. She opted not to knock; he'd frustrated her enough. She hated worrying about him, she detested being stuck in the quarters; she hated the feelings she didn't understand; she hated the coolness between them. She made a face at the door and turned on her heel. _Time to pack_, she thought.

SS

Severus was already dressed before dawn. Sitting stiffly, primly, in the brown armchair, he quietly sipped morning tea. Thirty minutes into his breakfast, Hermione walked out, a moving trunk in tow.  
"Up and about, are you?" Hermione said stiffly, straightening her stance.  
Severus stood up, cleared his throat, and took two steps forward. "Hermione, I am aware you do not want to stay here. I understand you have questions; I cannot answer them. But I ask you to stay here. If nothing else, it is safe. None of us know what kind of radicals are still out there. The world knows your face. If you return to reality, who knows what might happen. I implore you, then, to be patient--"

"Patience is awful. You know that, Snape. _I _want to do something extraordinary with my life. I want to _live._ I want--"

"Hermione," Snape said just as coolly as before. He grabbed her arms; his eyes were dark, "I _implore _you to stay where you are safe, right now. If anything happened to you--"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What? If anything happened to me, what?"

"It would be the world's loss," Snape's response was calculated, calm, unwavering. Hermione shook out of his grip.

"Not good enough."

"Excuse me?" Snape challenged.

"Not good enough. Sir, I thought…S-Severus, I thought--" she raked a hand through her hair. "Being around here, being invited to stay. You, now, telling me what's safe, what's not--"

"If I am guilty for another death--"

"Who says I'm going to die?!" Hermione's voice raised.

"It's always a possibility, with _anyone_."

"Look, I want freedom to live--"

"You are free--"

"_You're_ telling me to stay here and be a good girl! I will do no such thing! It's awful to be here worrying and--"

"I told you, no one told you to worry about anything! I will leave as I please; I have my own affairs to attend--"  
"_I'm _an adult. I should be able to leave—I can take care of myself. Stop telling me--" Hermione shivered.

"What you don't want to hear? That life isn't sunny and cushioned? _Too bad_--" Both their voices were rising at a rapid rate. "Why do you worry? There's nothing--"

"Oh, sod off Severus! There are a million reasons to worry. What if you got yourself into a situation and couldn't get out? I wouldn't know—I'd be waiting here for ages. In this…this _stupid_ dungeon…Waiting for some fucking scrap of news! I know the dangers of the world--"

"Then why are you throwing yourself into them?!" Severus boomed.

"Because—because—It's better than here. I felt—I did—I do—I--" tears streamed down Hermione's face. "Damn it." She whipped them away, roughly.

"If I didn't come back, would you be sad?" Snape asked, noticeably more gentle.

"Yes…no…I don't know. Of course I would be—It's just, I--"

"Hermione…Whatever you're feeling is only because I was there for you at a time when no one else was. You feel disconnected from anything, so you're desperate to connect with anything--"  
"Don't tell me what I'm feeling--"

"I don't want you to hurt yourself. You're not the only one who's broken--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione mumbled, congested. She headed for the door. Snape opened his mouth, but she was too quick. He unclenched his fist, revealing a key. "Just in case you had nowhere else to go, Hermione…" he said to the door.


	9. Tendencies Toward Addiction

**Readers: Thanks be to all the kind words! Cheers! This is a little bit of a shorter chapter (work is going to catch up with me soon). **

"Have you ever been drunk before?" Lily sweetly inquired, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"I—uh--" Severus let out a muffled laugh, "No, I guess…Well, my father's Whiskey--"

"Oh yeah?" Lily took a swig of her glass of Brandy. It sloshed out of the cup, onto her cheeks, and trickled down her shirt.

"Oh, god…" Lily looked down. They both started laughing. It was like a choir, the way their laughs swelled and climaxed. Severus scooted closer to her.

"Look at you--"

"I'll have to take this off--" Lily winked. Underneath her button-down was a lacy tank top.

"Oh dear, you'll have to get that washed…" Severus felt warm. He took his jacket off. They sat there, in the corner of the muggle park where they'd first met years ago. It was Christmas break. Of course it was cold, but they were so warm…

"It's so cold!" Lily sputtered.

"Here--" Severus leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her. She was warm and light and soft. _So soft._ Her hair smelled like honey and peppermint.

"Severus--"

He leaned in. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Their lips collided. Alcohol and soft lips. Cold noses and slobber-y tongues. Sweet, sweet seventeen.

"Oy, Snivly!"

Severus choked on his own tongue; he could feel bile crawling up his throat.

"SNIVLY! Whattchu doing with my--"

Severus felt strong hands grip his shoulders and rip him off the bench.

"James!" Lily shrieked. She pulled Severus' jacket over her tank top. "James, stop, look. It's my fault. We were just having a few drinks--"

James threw a punch; it hit Severus clear in the right cheek. Teeth collided with cheek tissue; Severus spit out red, red fluid.

"Look, Potter--" Severus said with as much volume as he could muster. He threw his arms over his head and tried to duck out of another punch. James faltered, and then went for Severus' stomach. Severus' knees buckled.

"James. Stop. I-it's my--"

"Lily," James said while he bent down to Severus' level, "whatever it is, it's the drink. You'd never actually go after this sodding--" James gargled and spit in Severus' face, "This sodding piece of scum."

Stiffly on the ground, Severus lay in the fetal position. Lily looked from James to Severus; she took off her jacket and laid it on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sev," she whispered.

SS

Hermione pushed sweaty brown tendrils out of her face. Stocking books on the top shelves of the bookstore was increasingly difficult without magic. She balanced on the stepladder, pushing the last of an encyclopedia set onto the top of a corner shelf. The front bell rang. Hastily jumping off the ladder, Hermione hurried to the front of the stuffy store; it was almost closing time.

"You can't be serious--" she said, hands on hips, scowling. In front of her stood a tall, black haired man in a crisp, black muggle business suit. "Well?" Hermione angrily inquired, sliding behind the counter.

"Ms. Granger, it's been three weeks since you left--"

"And you think I need checking up on, do you?"

"No. I need a muggle book, and it so happened to be this--"

"_Severus_," she hissed. Severus winced every time she said his first name, for it was only when her soul itself was cross with him did she use it. It was a curse word of the foulest breed. "You are more transparent than a raindrop. If I had the galleons, I'd pay you back for all the time you wasted aiding me. But now I am an independent adult. So, if you don't mind," she motioned towards the door.

"Not sticking around the wizarding world?" he inquired stubbornly, planting his frame as if to block time itself from ticking onwards.

"Some of us need a break from the wizarding world--"

"But it's your world--"

"It's _your_ world, _Severus. _And unless you're going to buy a damned used Muggle book, I'm going to have to ask you to lea--"

Severus grabbed to nearest book on the nearest shelf and slammed it down on the cashier counter.

"I'll take this."

Hermione looked from the book to his brow, "It's a book on pregnancy--"

"I'm open to learning about new subjects," he shrugged, willing the red to recede from his cheeks.

Hermione sighed. "This, and then out. I have to close up shop." She hit the cash register. "I don't suppose you have any muggle--"

Severus pressed a handful of coins onto the counter.

Hermione snorted, "Well prepared, you sure thought this one up." She printed the receipt and slipped it into the book. "Here."

Almost bashfully, he took the book from her. Reaching into his pocket, he gave her his tight fist.

"What are you--" Hermione tried to shrug away the feeling of his cool hand in hers. Opening his hand in hers, she let his fingers linger in between hers. A brass key.

"What is this for?" Hermione aske, reaching out beyond the counter. Severus was already turning towards the door.

"Oh, I think you know, Ms. Granger."

"No, I--come back--" she pushed through the counter and followed him out into the street.

"In case you need help beyond that of the mugg—this world--"

"I don't understand--" Hermione shouted; onlookers in the street glanced at them in shadows.

"Go back to your shop, Ms. Granger--" He crossed the street and into a park.

HG

Tucked in the utmost end corner of Diagon Alley, Hermione sat in her recently rented flat. Angrily flipping through a muggle news press, she sought the rental ads. There was a small house on the other side of London; she wouldn't be able to afford that for years. She felt stupid, small, and impulsive for renting a flat in the wizarding world. She needed a break, _a break. _Her doorbell sounded.

"Who is it?" She called, stashing the paper under a stack of books on her table.

"Me--"

"Me who?" She called again, while grabbing her jacket. She smiled, she knew bloody well who it was.

"Peter, the boy from the pub--"

"Oh, _that_ me," Hermione said, opening the door. "How do you do, Peter from the pub?"

"Thirsty--" the strapping lad said, pulling her into a tight hug. He stood a head taller than she; his blonde hair feathered around his ears. His thin frame was dressed well in a navy scarf and stiff black coat. "You alright, dove?" he inquired, when Hermione seemed a little less than enthusiastic to hug him back; she just leaned.

Peter was sweet, to be sure. They got on very well. But, though they'd known each other a while now, it was only their third date. Hermione didn't want to go dumping emotional and analytical things on the poor young man. "No—Yes—I'm fine. An old friend came to see me today, and I thought he might have come around to pick up something he forgot—But that's for another time. You ready to go?" Hermione forced a smile and locked her door. Hand in hand they walked down to the tavern across the way.

Across the corner, under a burnt out streetlamp, a dark figure slumped low. If one listened closely, a faint sniffle could be heard in the wind. But, of course, only the wind was listening. With a crack, Severus disapparated.


	10. Contradictions Never Attract

**Dear Readers: Thank you so, so much for hanging in there! (Sorry—lots of studies that, unfortunately, take precedence over my stories…) Here's a new one, obviously…Oh, and it's a bit on the mature side. So any queasy stomachs out there, brace yourselves. (It's really not **_**that**_** bad, though…)**

**Update: To answer a question someone posed: Yes, "is" in the poem was crossed out. However, unless anyone knows how to re-cross out words in the document editor, the poem remains a little awkward...Use your imaginations, and I apologize!**

At Severus' primary muggle school, horrid teachers forced his class to delve into the complicated realms of poetry. As a 9 year old boy, he hadn't much a care for it. However, several, several years later, he acquired a silent respect, rearing upon adoration, for the art of poetry. The poem of 9 year old Severus, he was not so fond of. Hastily vandalizing his own history, Severus held the paper crumpled in his hand. Viciously, he marked away at it.

There Is Was A Girl

Severus Snape. 10-30-1969

There is _was_ a girl,

With gold, orange hair,

And when she's around,

There's lavender in the air.

There is _was_ a girl,

Who is _was_ my best friend,

And when she's around,

My smiles never end.

There is _was_ a girl,

With laughter like spring,

And when she's around,

…I wish I could sing.

There is _was_ a girl,

Who's warm when it's cold,

And when she's around,

I'd rather be bold…

There is _was_ a girl,

Who I think I might love,

And when she's around,

I float from above.

_There was a woman,_

_I loved dearly and true,_

_But now she is gone;_

_My heart and soul are askew. _

He dropped his quill. A quiet thud sounded on the wooden floor. Shaking, he took in a deep, hollow, sour breath. The salty tears, which caressed his face so lovingly, dripped off his nose, onto young Severus' poem, onto the floor.

"It's been so many years, Lil…Since you…you--" Severus whispered, more silent and more cold than the stone on his hearth.  
"Once," he addressed the crackling fire as if it were her, "you told me anniversaries were funny things…It was my birthday," he picked up a glass standing next to him, and took a large swig of whiskey.

"My thirteenth birthday. You put a paper crown on my head and told me that. I had a black eye, remember?" Another swig.

"That was my birthday present. Father to son. And _you_ told me 'anniversaries do funny things to people who love you,'" Another swig.

"Happy birthday, you said. And kissed me on the cheek." he whispered. He threw the crystal glass against the wall; it shattered into a million pieces.

"I see the color of your hair in sunsets," he threw another glass from the tray at the side of his chair.

"I hear your laugh in running water," Another glass. "The wind," The final glass. "In silence," the grasped the crystal container of whiskey and hurled it towards the crackling flames.

"I feel your eyes on me, when the night is dead. Lily, I feel you inside of me, when I want to stop my heart. Lily, I feel you in the cold, when I want to _ROT_! LILY, I FEEL YOU IN MY SOUL, WHEN ALL I WANT TO DO IS WITHER IT AWAY!"

He fell to the ground and pulled at his hair. Sinking farther into the wood, he curled into a ball. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm—I'm—I hurt, Lil—I still hurt--I'm--sorry--"

SS

Sitting at her flimsy kitchen table, Hermione held an old, brass key at arms length. Beyond her hand, her window overlooked a bustling residential street, lit by dusk. Dry leaves flooded the walkway; pedestrians' breath rose crisply into the sky. "Happy Hallow'een!" she heard someone call form afar. A bang rattled her door. She dropped the key to the table and hastily pocketed it.

"Um, Hello?" she called, wand at the ready.

"Dove, it's me. I was worried about you, and it's--" Hermione opened the door, "It's Hallow'een." The strapping lad smiled down at her.

Hermione sighed, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, if you think you're going to take me out partying or something--"

"A few butter beers never hurt anyone," he winked.

"Maybe some other time, if that's alright? Plus, I took the late shift at the bookshop tonight--"

"Why're you still working at that wonky muggle shop?" he inquired, sitting himself at her table.

"Well, you see," she approached him, "I quite like the muggle world. It might be nice for a change of scenery--"

"Nonsense!"

"What?" Hermione laughed, despite her opinion being shot down.

"The wizarding world has all you'd ever need--"

"Oh, gods, you're sounding like one of those pretentious, stiff purebloods--"

"What's wrong with purebloods?"

"Nothing, I just--"

"_I'm_ a pureblood--" the young man stood up.

"Well, yes. I didn't _mean _anything wrong. I just meant--"

"You're just some, some twitchy little mudblood--" he started backing her towards the living room.

"Hey, what's gotten into you?!"

"You threw the first punch--"

"I did not! I didn't mean--"

With a flick of his wrist, he young man locked the doors of Hermione's flat. She drew her wand quickly. "Expelli--"

"Expelliarmus!" The young man cried, a pinch faster than Hermione. Her wand whizzed across the room.

"Why are you doing this--"

The young man chuckled. "Hermione…Hermione Jean Granger…You're a Hogwarts alum. Top of you class, eh? A good witch. Good for a mudblood, at least," he spat his last words in her face. Backing her to the couch, he pointed his wand at her.

"Sit!"

"No—Why are you--!"

"Imperio!" Hermione's mouth leaked a high-pitched squeal. Her demeanor shrunk, her shoulders twisted, and her body began to descend upon the couch. "I—said—_sit_--"

"Now," the young man said, seating himself next to her, "I was going to answer all your silly little questions…" he stroked her face gently, caressing her cheek, "If you would just—do—what—I—say--" He pulled at the back of her head and shook her.

"Do you want to do what I say, dove?" The young man inquired sweetly. Hermione nodded, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

"Tut, tut, tut—But there's a toll for information, you see," the young man winked. Hermione's eyes widened. "It won't be too bad, dove--" he moved his face close to hers; she could smell his minty breath. In a flash, Hermione slammed her forehead against his. He fell backwards. Running toward her door, Hermione grabbed her wand.

"NO!" he shouted, and with a flick of his own wrist, her wand went flying again. "Now," he said, standing up shakily, "come—here--" with one more flick of his wand, Hermione slammed against the floor and appeared being pulled backwards by an invisible wire.

"Couch--"

Hermione sat up like a puppet.

"Now, dove," he kissed her neck, "let me fill you in on all this naughty business--"

Thick tears streaked her face. He pulled at her blouse; the buttons ripped off easily. "I am not who you think I am," he cackled.

HG

On the floor, behind his couch, Severus sat. His head weakly bobbed in front of him. The clock on the mantelpiece sounded, giving him a start. He rubbed his leg. Stumbling forward, he tried to aid the burning sensation threatening to take over his entire limb. Ripping at his pocket, he found his brass house key. Severus dropped the flaming red key on the ground. After swallowing a drunken heave, Severus realized what he must do. Grabbing his cloak, he flung himself out the door.

SS

Cupping a white breast, he dug his nails hard into it. Hermione let out a yelp. "How's that dove?" Hermione's body shook.

"I asked you a question," he bent down and bit her collar bone, "I asked you--" he slapped her face; she cut her brow, "how's that?"

Hermione nodded, shakily gasping for air. The young man pulled her close. "So, you see, cousin Draco didn't know what he wanted--" he slipped a hand into her jeans. Finding the warm, pulsing softness he wanted, he stroked the erect bead, "But I know exactly what I want." Hermione gasped, trying to pull away from his hand. "P-p-please—Please--" Her eyes were swollen and red. All clothing disappeared in what seemed like a flash. "No--" she begged, her voice nearly a whisper. Working in small circles, he massaged her. Unwillingly, she started to relax. He slapped her, hard; she throbbed, she whimpered. Taking her tensely, he pushed his entirety into her until she ripped. "A virgin? Little, itty, bitty mudblood's going to bleed…!" She screamed.

The door flew off its hinges and landed in a corner. "Hermione?" a hoarse called hastily. "Hermione!" The young man flew off her. "DON'T TOUCH HER!" a voice bellowed. Before she could open her eyes, someone covered her in a blanket. "Get to your room Hermione—lock your door—do not come out--" She ran. She stumbled and flung herself onto her bed. Sobbing and gasping, she writhed and coughed.

"CRUCIO!" a voice bellowed. Another voice whined and moaned.

"You…are…scum—You…deserve…less…than…nothing--" A body slammed against something hard, a slap sounded. Before she knew it, Hermione's eyes felt heavy. She did not want to sleep, not now. But she had no choice…

HG

Letting out a soft groan, Hermione realized she was not moving of her own accord. Opening her eyes a little wider, she realized she was being carried in warm arms. They were ascending to somewhere; a stair creaked.

"He--" she whispered hoarsely.

"Sh--" Severus looked down and hushed her. "Don't speak; shut your mind--"

"I c—ca—can't--" She started shaking in his arms. Quickly, it seemed, he laid her on a bed.

"Sh—" he stroked her hair. She grasped his collar and sobbed into his chest. "Sh--" He rubbed her back gently.

"I—I—He--How did you--" She smelled whiskey, "Are you drunk--?"

"Not anymore…Hermione, no questions now. You are safe--"

"But I--"

Severus sat next to her on the bed. "Lay down, close your eyes for now. Rest." He stood and went toward the door, "I'll get you a Sleepless--"

"P-pl—please don't leave…Severus--"

He turned back to face her, "I won't, Hermione," he whispered softly.


End file.
